An Interesting Conversation

James Wesley returned home, loosened his tie, and took off his suit, preparing to rest as usual.

"Good evening, Mr. Wesley."

A hoarse voice echoed in the living room. Wesley, who was taking a bottle of milk from the refrigerator, trembled slightly before regaining his composure.

"I'd advise you not to hold a gun or try to resist, Mr. Wesley. You're not good at that." The voice seemed to know what he was about to do.

"Sit down at the table. Let's talk face-to-face. That's why I've come to visit you." After a brief moment of thought, Wesley decided to comply with the other party's request. He was an intelligent man and always knew how to protect himself.

"Who are you?" the young man with gold-rimmed glasses, who appeared somewhat refined, asked after a moment's hesitation, posing the rather cliché question.

"That's not important," the figure sitting in the darkness said. A handgun, glinting coldly, emerged from the shadows, aimed at Wesley, who was trying his best to remain calm. "Who you are is the question worth caring about."

"Mr. Wesley, at the age of twenty-eight, you own a duplex apartment in a wealthy district of Manhattan, wear a limited edition Piaget watch, and are dressed in Italian handmade custom suits. Furthermore, you own three properties each in Long Island and Brooklyn. To be honest, given your age and salary, all of this seems rather unusual. You come from an ordinary working-class family in Hell's Kitchen, and you completed your studies with the help of scholarships and a benefactor. After graduation, you became a manager at a trading company. If I may be blunt, with your salary, even buying this apartment would be a struggle."

As his information was revealed piece by piece, Wesley couldn't help but feel a chill. The other party had investigated him thoroughly, not missing even the smallest details.

Looking at the gun extended from the shadows and the figure in the darkness, Wesley began to panic. He had no idea what this person who had appeared out of nowhere wanted from him.

"It's truly surprising that you attended Stanford University and are a promising law graduate. And that benefactor who helped you complete your studies was the renowned real estate magnate from Hell's Kitchen, Wilson Fisk. However, he has another, more terrifying name: Kingpin."

"Are you after Mr. Wilson? Who sent you? The Russian Mafia, or the Japanese Hand? The Mexican Drug Cartel?" Wesley's mind raced, listing several other criminal organizations in Hell's Kitchen.

"Wow, Kingpin really has a lot of enemies. As I said, you don't need to know my identity. I'm here to talk about a deal." A figure emerged from the darkness, their face obscured by a hood, making their appearance indistinguishable.

Wesley leaned forward slightly, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses, and asked, "You want me to betray Mr. Wilson?"

This highly intelligent law graduate from a prestigious university possessed a quick and agile mind. He knew he had nothing that would attract attention; only the crime lord who ruled New York's underworld would be the target of others.

"Bingo!" The figure in the darkness snapped their fingers and said in a relaxed tone, "It's not betrayal. No one dares to ignore Kingpin's fearsome reputation. Most of those who oppose him end up at the bottom of the Hudson River. As Kingpin's personal assistant, Mr. Wesley, you should know this better than I do."

"Then what do you want? I'm just a nobody." Wesley was confused by the other party's words.

The hooded figure chuckled twice and placed the handgun in the middle of the table, showing no fear of Wesley seizing the weapon.

"I've got my eye on Kingpin's empire—of course, I'm referring to his legitimate, above-board businesses. Hell's Kitchen is a melting pot of all sorts of people. Kingpin has established his iron-fisted rule through violence and bloodshed, but the Russian Mafia and the Japanese Hand, these forces have always wanted to reclaim their territory. A war will soon break out here."

The hooded figure looked at Wesley, who was frowning, and said, "I want to kick all of them out, including Kingpin!"

Wesley's expression was one of utter shock. He almost thought he had encountered a madman, aiming to eliminate Kingpin and all the criminal forces in Hell's Kitchen.

Even the entire NYPD couldn't achieve that. Kingpin alone had thousands of thugs and villains working for him. If this crime lord declared that someone should disappear from New York, that person's corpse would be dumped into the Hudson River that very night.

"You must think I'm joking right now, perhaps even seeing me as a raving lunatic." The figure seemed to have guessed Wesley's thoughts and continued, "I don't need your belief, or even any guarantees from you."

"I've come to see you today, to have this conversation, only to let you know one thing, Mr. Wesley."

The figure paused, then said, "Tomorrow night, Kingpin will die. His capable enforcer, Bullseye, will not be spared either."

This statement struck Wesley like a bolt from the blue. His mind seemed to freeze, his ability to think momentarily halted.

This madman was going to kill Kingpin and Bullseye?!

"Once these two are dead, as Kingpin's personal assistant who manages his criminal empire for him, James Wesley, you will become one of the most powerful individuals in Hell's Kitchen."

The hooded figure, ignoring Wesley's shock, elaborated on his plan: "At the same level as you will be Mr. Leland, Kingpin's financial expert—if he's willing to cooperate. After that, you will quickly take over Kingpin's assets. As for the illegal businesses, I believe the Russian Mafia, the Japanese Hand, and those Mexican drug dealers will be interested."

"What you need to do is to legitimize yourself in the shortest possible time, present yourself as a legitimate businessman, a rising star in Hell's Kitchen, and then invest in a genetic biologist named Curt Connors, providing him with research funding."

Wesley's mouth hung open. He stared blankly at the figure in the darkness, thinking that he had indeed encountered a complete lunatic, openly discussing how to usurp the New York crime lord's empire and territory right in front of him. Wasn't he afraid Wesley would report him to Kingpin?

"You are an intelligent person, and I appreciate that you didn't try to grab the handgun on the table. Otherwise, you'd be meeting God by now."

The other party said calmly, but with a hint of coldness in his tone that made Wesley shiver.

"Of course, you can also go tell Kingpin that tomorrow a madman will attempt to kill him and take everything he owns."

The figure always seemed to guess Wesley's thoughts, as if able to read his mind. This made Wesley feel completely exposed, as if he had no secrets.

"...However, an intelligent and capable person is never content to be subservient. You shouldn't just be a personal assistant to a crime lord, Mr. Wesley. You have a broader future ahead of you—if you're truly smart enough!"

The figure slowly retreated back into the darkness. After a while, the room fell silent again, with no further sounds. It was as if everything that had just happened was merely Wesley's hallucination.

The personal assistant to the crime lord looked at the handgun on the table, his eyes filled with complex emotions.

ps: I can't believe readers actually gave me rewards. Thank you!ヽ(￣▽￣)